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A sharp sob escaped my lips as soon as I was under the hot spray of the shower, my chest heaving from the force of it.
My heart couldn’t handle the fear. It couldn’t handle the pain of what I’d learned over the last couple days.
I clawed uselessly at the tile wall to keep myself standing as each agonizing beat of my heart threatened to destroy me. Threatened to bury me under my grief and uncertainty and pain so that I’d never be able to find my way out again.
My emotions flared and ebbed while I dried and styled my hair, but by the time I was finishing applying my makeup, I was overcome with resentment.
I needed to continue contacting Kieran or Beck until one of them answered to let them know I was okay. I knew that.
But as I shoved my makeup into my bag, all I could think of was their lies and the work they’d been doing for Mickey—their decision to pull Conor off last night for that work—and I didn’t care.
I didn’t care if they thought I’d been captured by Borellos or if they thought I was dead.
Their pain . . . their fear . . . I wanted it.
I wanted them to experience a fraction of what the families of the women who were kidnapped and sold in the human trafficking ring felt. I wanted them to understand what they already had their hands in.
I shoved the glasses on my face and tensed at my next bitter thought, my chest immediately aching.
I want Kieran to never have been involved with this at all . . .
I tried to swallow past the sudden tightness in my throat, and blinked quickly when my vision blurred.
I needed to hold on to my anger.
I needed—
“Damn it,” I murmured when my hand caught on the strap of my bag, knocking it off the counter and spilling the contents across the floor.
I dropped to a crouch, quickly tossing everything back inside.
My head snapped up when the door to the bathroom opened, confusion and annoyance flooding me when I realized I’d never locked the door.
/> But every emotion and every thought I’d been battling in that room over the last hour abruptly vanished when the person walking through the door wasn’t Libby or Einstein.
A man who looked just as surprised to see me as I was him.
A man whose stare quickly turned cold and cruel as recognition hit.
And just as it had last night, the calculating look in his eyes made it feel like ice-cold fingers were slowly trailing up my spine.
Libby and Einstein immediately stopped talking to watch Johnny and me walk toward where they stood in their kitchen. Something was off about the way they were staring at us. They were worried. I could practically feel it. If I hadn’t been so focused on keeping Johnny calm, my steps might have faltered.
But as it was, I was focused on keeping Johnny calm.
I’d passed out sometime early this morning once my adrenaline had finally died down and woken up not long ago. By then, my rage had faded enough for me to realize what Johnny had done last night . . . what Einstein had tried to warn us both of.
I’d watched as he wrecked that guesthouse on the Holloway Estate and hadn’t once tried to stop him. They would know it had been us, and we hadn’t even gotten Lily O’Sullivan out of it.
Now because he’d fucked up, I had to make sure my family was safe—had to keep them safe—and I needed to make sure Johnny never once felt my anger or fear. If he did, if he knew I was truly afraid for our family, for Einstein, and it had been his fault . . . he’d be uncontrollable.
“Morning,” I said with a practiced grin.
Libby scoffed. “I hear last night was a bust. I could’ve told you it was going to be. Oh, wait, I did tell you.”
Einstein cut her a look before quickly dropping her stare to the floor. I tried to study her face and hands, but Johnny blocked my view of her when he slipped up to kiss the top of her head, quietly talking to her as he did.
I looked back at Libby, but she was staring at her nails.
